the colour of life-第15部分

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parents　to　have　been　something　familiarly　near；　so　measured　by　his

new　standard；　again；　it　is　the　coming　of　Attila　that　is　displaced。

Those　ten　last　years　of　his　have　corrected　the　world。　　There　needs

no　other　rod　than　that　ten　years'　rod　to　chastise　all　the

imaginations　of　the　spirit　of　man。　　It　makes　history　skip。



To　have　lived　through　any　appreciable　part　of　any　century　is　to　hold

thenceforth　a　mere　century　cheap　enough。　　But；　it　may　be　said；　the

mystery　of　change　remains。　　Nay；　it　does　not。　　Change　that　trudges

through　our　own　world　…　our　contemporary　world　…　is　not　very

mysterious。　　We　perceive　its　pace；　it　is　a　jog…trot。　　Even　so；　we

now　consider；　jolted　the　changes　of　the　past；　with　the　same　hurry。



The　man；　therefore；　who　has　intelligently　ceased　to　be　a　child　scans

through　a　shortened　avenue　the　reaches　of　the　past。　　He　marvels　that

he　was　so　deceived。　　For　it　was　a　very　deception。　　If　the　Argonauts；

for　instance；　had　been　children；　it　would　have　been　well　enough　for

the　child　to　measure　their　remoteness　and　their　acts　with　his　own

magnificent　measure。　　But　they　were　only　men　and　demi…gods。　　Thus

they　belong　to　him　as　he　is　now　…　a　man；　and　not　to　him　as　he　was

once　…　a　child。　　It　was　quite　wrong　to　lay　the　child's　enormous　ten

years'　rule　along　the　path　from　our　time　to　theirs；　that　path　must

be　skipped　by　the　nimble　yard　in　the　man's　present　possession。

Decidedly　the　Argonauts　are　no　subject　for　the　boy。



What；　then？　　Is　the　record　of　the　race　nothing　but　a　bundle　of　such

little　times？　　Nay；　it　seems　that　childhood；　which　created　the

illusion　of　ages；　does　actually　prove　it　true。　　Childhood　is　itself

Antiquity　…　to　every　man　his　only　Antiquity。　　The　recollection　of

childhood　cannot　make　Abraham　old　again　in　the　mind　of　a　man　of

thirty…five；　but　the　beginning　of　every　life　is　older　than　Abraham。

THERE　is　the　abyss　of　time。　　Let　a　man　turn　to　his　own　childhood　…

no　further　…　if　he　would　renew　his　sense　of　remoteness；　and　of　the

mystery　of　change。



For　in　childhood　change　does　not　go　at　that　mere　hasty　amble；　it

rushes；　but　it　has　enormous　space　for　its　flight。　　The　child　has　an

apprehension　not　only　of　things　far　off；　but　of　things　far　apart；　an

illusive　apprehension　when　he　is　learning　〃ancient〃　history　…　a　real

apprehension　when　he　is　conning　his　own　immeasurable　infancy。　　If

there　is　no　historical　Antiquity　worth　speaking　of；　this　is　the

renewed　and　unnumbered　Antiquity　for　all　mankind。



And　it　is　of　this　…　merely　of　this　…　that　〃ancient〃　history　seems　to

partake。　　Rome　was　founded　when　we　began　Roman　history；　and　that　is

why　it　seems　long　ago。　　Suppose　the　man　of　thirty…five　heard；　at

that　present　age；　for　the　first　time　of　Romulus。　　Why；　Romulus　would

be　nowhere。　　But　he　built　his　wall；　as　a　matter　of　fact；　when　every

one　was　seven　years　old。　　It　is　by　good　fortune　that　〃ancient〃

history　is　taught　in　the　only　ancient　days。　　So；　for　a　time；　the

world　is　magical。



Modern　history　does　well　enough　for　learning　later。　　But　by　learning

something　of　antiquity　in　the　first　ten　years；　the　child　enlarges

the　sense　of　time　for　all　mankind。　　For　even　after　the　great

illusion　is　over　and　history　is　re…measured；　and　all　fancy　and

flight　caught　back　and　chastised；　the　enlarged　sense　remains

enlarged。　　The　man　remains　capable　of　great　spaces　of　time。　　He　will

not　find　them　in　Egypt；　it　is　true；　but　he　finds　them　within；　he

contains　them；　he　is　aware　of　them。　　History　has　fallen　together；

but　childhood　surrounds　and　encompasses　history；　stretches　beyond

and　passes　on　the　road　to　eternity。



He　has　not　passed　in　vain　through　the　long　ten　years；　the　ten　years

that　are　the　treasury　of　preceptions　…　the　first。　　The　great

disillusion　shall　never　shorten　those　years；　nor　set　nearer　together

the　days　that　made　them。　　〃Far　apart；〃　I　have　said；　and　that　〃far

apart〃　is　wonderful。　　The　past　of　childhood　is　not　single；　is　not

motionless；　nor　fixed　in　one　point；　it　has　summits　a　world　away　one

from　the　other。　　Year　from　year　differs　as　the　antiquity　of　Mexico

from　the　antiquity　of　Chaldea。　　And　the　man　of　thirty…five　knows　for

ever　afterwards　what　is　flight；　even　though　he　finds　no　great

historic　distances　to　prove　his　wings　by。



There　is　a　long　and　mysterious　moment　in　long　and　mysterious

childhood；　which　is　the　extremest　distance　known　to　any　human　fancy。

Many　other　moments；　many　other　hours；　are　long　in　the　first　ten

years。　　Hours　of　weariness　are　long　…　not　with　a　mysterious　length；

but　with　a　mere　length　of　protraction；　so　that　the　things　called

minutes　and　half…hours　by　the　elderly　may　be　something　else　to　their

apparent　contemporaries；　the　children。　　The　ancient　moment　is　not

merely　one　of　these　…　it　is　a　space　not　of　long；　but　of

immeasurable；　time。　　It　is　the　moment　of　going　to　sleep。　　The　man

knows　that　borderland；　and　has　a　contempt　for　it：　he　has　long　ceased

to　find　antiquity　there。　　It　has　become　a　common　enough　margin　of

dreams　to　him；　and　he　does　not　attend　to　its　phantasies。　　He　knows

that　he　has　a　frolic　spirit　in　his　head　which　has　its　way　at　those

hours；　but　he　is　not　interested　in　it。　　It　is　the　inexperienced

child　who　passes　with　simplicity　through　the　marginal　country；　and

the　thing　he　meets　there　is　principally　the　yet　further　conception

of　illimitable　time。



His　nurse's　lullaby　is　translated　into　the　mysteries　of　time。　　She

sings　absolutely　immemorial　words。　　It　matters　little　what　they　may

mean　to　waking　ears；　to　the　ears　of　a　child　going　to　sleep　they　tell

of　the　beginning　of　the　world。　　He　has　fallen　asleep　to　the　sound　of

them　all　his　life；　and　〃all　his　life〃　means　more　than　older　speech

can　well　express。



Ancient　custom　is　formed　in　a　single　spacious　year。　　A　child　is

beset　with　long　traditions。　　And　his　infancy　is　so　old；　so　old；　that

the　mere　adding　of　years　in　the　life　to　follow　will　not　seem　to

throw　it　further　back　…　it　is　already　so　far。　　That　is；　it　looks　as

remote　to　the　memory　of　a　man　of　thirty　as　to　that　of　a　man　of

seventy。　　What　are　a　mere　forty　years　of　added　later　life　in　the

contemplation　of　such　a　distance？　　Pshaw！







EYES







There　is　nothing　described　with　so　little　attention；　with　such

slovenliness；　or　so　without　verification　…　albeit　with　so　much

confidence　and　word…painting　…　as　the　eyes　of　the　men　and　women

whose　faces　have　been　made　memorable　by　their　works。　　The　describer

generally　takes　the　first　colour　that　seems　to　him　probable。　　The

grey　eyes　of　Coleridge　are　recorded　in　a　proverbial　line；　and

Procter　repeats　the　word；　in　describing　from　the　life。　　Then

Carlyle；　who　shows　more　signs　of　actual　attention；　and　who　caught　a

trick　of　Coleridge's　pronunciation　instantly；　proving　that　with　his

hearing　at　least　he　was　not　slovenly；　says　that　Coleridge's　eyes

were　brown　…　〃strange；　brown；　timid；　yet　earnest…looking　eyes。〃　　A

Coleridge　with　brown　eyes　is　one　man；　and　a　Coleridge　with　grey　eyes

another　…　and；　as　it　were；　more　respo